


Devil's Backbone

by JadeyKins



Series: Devil's Backbone [1]
Category: Constantine (TV), Supernatural, Torchwood
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-16
Updated: 2014-10-29
Packaged: 2018-02-21 11:17:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2466293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JadeyKins/pseuds/JadeyKins
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Honestly, all John Constantine wanted was a stiff drink in a seedy bar. Then a handsome stranger sat down across the table from him and his night went the way things usually go--running into supernatural beings and having to fight for his life. Maybe the night won't end as badly as it seems to have started...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Bars should never have outlawed smoking. Second hand smoke should be the least of concerns since demons, angels, aliens, the works, were out to decimate humanity, or worse, enslave it. Yet, the laws rolled out and now bars on both sides of ‘the pond’ smelled like stale beer and broken dreams. Broken dreams do have a smell. Like a fetid pool of water heated in the sun.

John Constantine was far too familiar with that scent. At least when bars allowed smoking, the smoke and ash would flavor the air and make it palpable. Now the air just stank, really.

“‘Master of the Dark Arts,’” the man across the table from him read from the simple white business card. He had a bright smile and nice looks. His old fashioned RAF coat stuck out worse than John’s tan trench coat in this small town crowd. The only two other patrons and the bartender had glared their direction ever since the man had taken the seat. Still, that smile more than made up for the ignorant hateful glances they were getting. The man leaned in, playing with the card between his fingers, and his smile turned into a wicked grin. “What, like magic?”

“Exactly that,” John replied. He swept the shot glass up off the table and knocked back the contents in a single swoop. He set the empty glass right side up onto the table. “Do you find that to be a joke?”

“No.” The man tucked the card into one of his pockets. “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised one of your kind showed up.”

“My kind?” John demanded.

“A case like this is bound to attract the attention of hucksters.”

“Are you doubting my abilities?”

The man shrugged.

John drained the remainder of his beer. “Pft, here I thought you might be worth the time. Instead, you’re going to sit there and mock my profession. And what is it that you do?”

“I catch aliens and loot future tech that’s wound up on this planet too early.”

All right, that was an unusual answer. After the shock wore off, John rolled his eyes. “Well, if you’re not going to take me seriously, I should be on my way.”

“So now you’re not believing me?”

“Suppose I’m not.”

The man laughed and finished his beer. “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”

“The Dark Arts aren’t for parlor tricks, mate. You don’t toy with them unless you mean business, and showing off while intoxicated is not good for anyone’s health.”

With a shrug, the man said, “I’ve done my best business that way.”

“Then you’re a lucky fool.”

“You’re not the first to say that.” The man stared him down with that predator’s smile on his lips. Enticing, at least. “But I’ve had few complaints so far.”

John snorted and reached for his glass. Disappointedly empty.

“Another round?” the man asked.

“You already brought me the shot. If you’re buying a round, could I at least get your name?”

“Captain Jack Harkness.”

John had to stop himself from laughing. The chuckle burst forth despite his efforts. When Jack’s expression darkened in annoyance, John brought the reaction under control. “Hold off, you’re serious?”

“You’ve heard of me?”

“There’s maybe two score references over the books, but most of ‘em date back to the 1920’s. ‘40’s at the latest. That would make you over a hundred years old.”

“I’m over two thousand, but who’s counting,” Jack replied.

That remark was meant to be a toss away. A joke, a laugh, but all the same it stank of truth. Yet, somehow, some way, this prick hadn’t set off the usual alarms in John’s mind. Fuck, a cigarette would be good about now. His hands knew what to do with those. They wouldn’t betray that slight concern growing in the pit of his stomach by shaking like they were going to do left out on their own like this.

Beings that old never wanted to simply sit around and drink and chat. Oh, this was likely to become a very bad evening.

Jack held up the empty glass. “Want one or not?”

“So long as you’re buying, who am I to complain?” John said.

Jack grinned again and got up from the table. His chair scraped against the wooden floor.

Now, did John keep sitting here and allow the ancient creature at the bar to get him that promised drink, or did he fuck off before this could bite him in the ass? 

So far, this seemed like just another man in a bar, and honestly, the whole thing could still be a farce on Jack’s part to tease him. Ancient beings tended not to go around stating their age. Then again, random strangers rarely pulled barely referenced names from their asses on a whim. Either way, the man was more than appearances let on.

John watched Jack order from the bartender with all the flair and smile of a man comfortable with what he was. He made a good picture over there—tall, dark-haired, somehow finding a suggestive way to lean against a filthy old bar like it was the edge of a bed. 

John had had a few too many already, apparently. A smart man would run, yet here he was still in his seat, watching.

Well, no one ever accused him of being exceptionally bright, had they?

Jack tossed down money onto the bar and brought back the two beers.

If John left now, that would be rude. Might as well drink the beer. He took the glass from Jack, muttered a “Cheers” and knocked about half of it back in one go.

“You never said what brought you to town,” Jack said after a small sip of his own.

“Who says I’m not a local?” John returned.

“You’re English, for a start.”

“You Americans. You assume all us Brits are English,” John said. A test by all accounts—he was English.

Jack grinned. “Liverpool and Northampton. I’ve spent enough time over there to know.”

Damn it, this thing across the table from him really knew the planet. John finished the rest of the drink.

“I’m freaking you out,” Jack said. “That wasn’t my intention.”

“And what did you intend?”

“I was going for flirting.”

“You are failing spectacularly at that, mate.”

“I think that’s the first time I’ve ever heard that,” a different man said.

John craned his neck around for the speaker. Just behind him, to his left, was a man with dark hair and blue eyes—and he wore a dark suit, white dress shirt, and a tan overcoat.

“Oh bloody hell,” John complained. He longed for a cigarette even more now. “Let me guess, you’re the boyfriend? Or the friend who won’t bang him?”

The newcomer tilted his head and scrunched his nose a bit at the question. “You’re referring to our similar style of dress?”

“We do have a striking resemblance. Blonde and dark haired copies, nearly.”

Jack, at least, had the decency to look the slightest bit embarrassed at his choice of bar pickups. He occupied himself with his drink for a few seconds.

John picked up his trench coat from the back of the nearby chair. He stood up, slowly picked up the half-full beer, and then chugged back its contents before setting the glass back down. “Well, thanks for the drinks and the spooks. I can go to bed content now that my day’s been made complete.”

His exit strategy was cut incredibly short. No sooner had he turned towards the door then four burly men came walking into the establishment. Typically not the worst of problems, but these all bore signs of demonic possession. A troubling class of them too—ones that allowed even normal people to see their damned souls by blackening the victim’s eyes.

More unsettling was that the air shifted in the bar. The three more behind him suddenly gave off that vibe of Hell. John should have paid better attention.

Stranger yet, Jack scraped his chair again as he stood and the other man turned his wrist and an Angel Blade dropped into his hand.

“Boss wants to talk to you, Castiel,” one of the demons said. “No need to fight.”

Castiel? Castiel the Angel of the Lord? Castiel who had, far as John could account, royally fucked up an apocalypse with the help of two Americans? Who opened a bloody door to Purgatory? Who had helped burn up scores of angelic wings? His senses couldn’t have been so far dulled that John hadn’t even noted an Angel standing beside him. How many beers had he had?

One small pleasure—these bastards weren’t for him.

“Tell your boss I’m not interested,” Castiel replied. 

Ah. There. Finally. The Angel flexed his Grace in an attempt to seem bigger against the demons. John and the demons could see it well enough. The tiny flare of brightness to the eyes.

But wait. Something was wrong with those wings. They didn’t fly out bold and beautiful. They didn’t even make an impression in the light frequency—didn’t cause shadows. Instead they shuddered into sight like a certain breed of ghost. A pale, flickering ghost of mutilated wings—not the real deal, not any more.

What the hell?

Castiel nearly fell forward. He had paled considerably and sweat broke out along his temples.

That Angel wasn’t well at all. That wasn’t supposed to happen.

Running would be the smartest move, though the demons had the exits blocked. There was a window. With any luck, he could smash a chair through that and make an escape.

Castiel’s grip was failing on the blade. Fight hadn’t even started yet.

Oh, hell, here he went again. The small nagging voice reminding him to do the right thing while everything else shouted that the right thing would be the death of him someday. Hadn’t that pursuit been the death of enough friends to get the point across to him?

Apparently not yet. John said, “Well you won’t be havin’ him.”

“This isn’t your fight,” Castiel grumbled. “Leave.”

“I’m sure that lot won’t let me.”

“Last chance,” the lead demon called out.

Jack drew a gun and cocked it.

“That’s really not going to help,” John said.

“Lack of kneecaps still slows ‘em down,” Jack said.

John was ‘bout to complain to him that the demons were inhabiting people and no one liked waking up to a lost kneecap, but the demons had finally had enough patience. They roared together and charged.

The three of them weren’t stupid enough to stand still during the charge. Jack held true, shot a kneecap in the time it too the demons to charge. Castiel proved an experienced fighter by ducking one attacker and plunging the Angel Blade into the heart of the next.

John took the nearest chair and swung with all his might into the demon rushing him. Yeah, of course that didn’t slow his down. Instead, the demon gripped him by the shoulders and ran him backwards against the wall. John tripped over a chair and they toppled down to the ground. 

While they grappled, two more bodies hit the ground. Good for the overall fight, but John’s was on top of him now. Hands crushed around his throat and air became a luxury he couldn’t afford. 

Metal clanged to the floor nearby. John glanced that way. The Angel Blade.

He reached out and his fingers just brushed against the warmed metal. The demon’s hands grew tighter, so John redoubled his effort to stretch. He grasped the end of the handle, flipped it up into his hand—the damn thing so well balanced it was like it wanted to kill—and drove the point up through the demon’s heart.

John shoved the corpse off and worked at pushing himself back up onto his feet. 

Jack was going toe-to-toe with two of the bastards. He had enough space to move and looked able to win that fight, though he didn’t have a weapon on him.

But Castiel was shoved up against the bar. A demon had him bent backwards. With one hand, the demon kept Castiel pinned down and the other had a broken bottle. So far, Castiel kept the bottle at bay by a tight grip on the demon’s arm. Castiel put his other hand on the side of the demon’s face. White light flickered from his hand for a second. A stuttering start, but it couldn’t finish the demon.

Finally on his feet again, John took the blade and drove it upwards into the demon’s back. It hit the heart, killed the demon, and spared Castiel any damage. Just as quickly, John withdrew the blade. As he tossed it across the room, he shouted, “Jack!”

The blade found the intended fighter’s hand and Jack made quick work of the two remaining demons.

All three of them were panting, though Castiel hardest of them all. He pushed off the bar, and almost fell forward into John. John caught him anyway and steadied him. 

“I’m fine,” Castiel rasped.

“Course you are. Dropping a weapon in mid-battle happens to me all the time. Then again, I’m no Angel of the Lord.”

Castiel stiffened against him, and not in the pleasant way John had hoped for with Jack when he first sat down. He glared at him. “How do you know that?”

“Part of the job,” John said.

“We gotta go,” Jack told them. He grabbed up his coat and John’s. “Come on.”

As they got to the door, John glanced over his shoulder one last time. The bar reeked of blood now. Bodies were strewn haphazardly. Obvious signs of a struggle for obvious reasons. The two men that John had personally murdered—yes he had taken the demons, but deep down there had still been men in there—stared back at him with dead eyes.

Two more for his chorus. He didn’t suppose the argument ‘but I was saving an Angel’ or ‘fighting for my life’ would work on them. Never did on the others. Certainly in a few days’ time, he’d have that chance to explain it to them. 

For now, run before anyone paying attention to the bar decided to phone the police.


	2. Chapter 2

The car ride to the motel on the edge of town had been a terse, silent affair, mostly because the angel in the back seat had begged for a bit of quiet in complaint of a headache. Jack’s driving could charitably be considered reckless, and so John Constantine had been left to hold on and hope that the SUV wouldn’t roll on a few of the tighter, graded turns through the woods that they made.

In the end, though, they were parked outside the shitty motel. John eased out of the vehicle once Jack finally parked. Time to see what these two were really about then.

As he stepped down from the hulking piece of machinery, John drew his pack of cigs from his coat pocket. He had to search a second for the lighter, but soon enough he had one lit between his lips and his nerves could take a few extra seconds to breathe before dealing with whatever was about to head his way. He took another long puff and went around the front of the car.

Castiel was coughing—pale and sweaty still—and leaning against the SUV. Jack was trying to hold onto his arm, but Castiel roughly pulled his arm away. “I just need a minute!” Castiel snapped.

Concern flashed over Jack’s features long enough for John to catch, but then the other man was hiding that emotion away. How much more was the ancient man hiding under those movie star looks?

John leaned against the SUV and took another drag off the cig. “So, think it’s ‘bout time we straightened out a few things here.”

“How did you know who I am?” Castiel demanded.

Annoying that the Angel of the Lord had gotten in the first question, but John wasn’t one to let the chance to show off a bit of his knowledge. “Do you have any idea what kind of ruckus Heaven has been raising over you for the last few years? He’s dead, he’s not dead, he says we should all be free so let’s start a civil war, whoops turns out he thinks he’s God now, dead again, alive again, and then so many of your brothers and sisters come crashing down to Earth in one of the largest cosmic catastrophes in the last decade and all your siblings are pointing squarely at you.” John took another drag. “Did you think no one noticed?”

“Who are you?”

“Don’t know if I should just be handing that information over to a being like yourself,” John replied.

“John Constantine,” Jack said. “Exorcist, Demonolgist, and Master of the Dark Arts.”

Castiel’s eyes widened. He might’ve spoken, but for a racking fit of coughs kept him from breathing. Talking was out of the question for a few moments. 

“So you’ve heard of me?” John asked.

“Did you think Heaven never noticed what you were doing?” Castiel wheezed.

Jack glanced between the two of them. “I think I’m missing something here.”

“His loyalties have been questioned more frequently than yours,” Castiel said.

“That is rich coming from you,” John replied. “I have a loyalty—humanity, though I’m guessing Heaven doesn’t like to talk about that. Thought you’d be one able to appreciate my motivations.”

“You make deals with demons.”

“I’m sorry, but who helped you open the gate to Purgatory?” John smiled smugly. “Oh, right, King Crowley himself. Best not to cast stones when you live in a glass house, mate.”

Castiel let out a ragged, exhausted sigh. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”

Well, wasn’t that a first? An angel apologizing to him. 

“Come on,” Jack said. “We should get inside. Get cleaned up.”

“Get naked, you hope,” Castiel said.

Jack flashed a grin. “Only if everyone’s up for it.”

Castiel finally pushed away from the support of the SUV. He was able to walk on his own towards the motel door. “Fine with me.”

Jack glanced back at John. “Are you coming?”

“One question first,” John said. “And speak truthful or you’ll never see me again.”

“Sure,” Jack replied. “Shoot.”

“Why did you sit down across from me at the bar?”

“I have a thing for hot guys in suits,” Jack said without missing a beat. 

“And that’s all?”

“Yeah.”

John chuckled and took one last drag on the cigarette. As he stomped it out underfoot, he let loose the smoke from his lungs. “All right then, let’s go get cleaned up, shall we?”

************* 

The red marks on John’s neck had faded, but touching them stung. He would have bruises tomorrow. He had survived worse and would probably be facing hellish amounts of pain in the future. A few minor cuts and bruises didn’t compare what had happened to the other men.

John let out a long sigh and splashed more cold water on his face. 

Dead men, not exorcised. They could have been saved.

He hadn’t had the time. Not really. Not with so many of them.

Yet, John was pretty sure he’d turn around at some point in the near future and see those two he had stabbed staring back at him. He let out a ragged sigh. Maybe he should just call a wash on this whole thing and go get his own room. After all, was he really in the mood?

He left the bathroom prepared to grab his jacket and coat and leave only to stop in the doorway.

Castiel had his arm around Jack’s shoulders as they pressed together in a kiss. Jack’s hands cupped the angel’s ass and dragged him close. They had that familiarity of lovers, but all the passion exploding at the beginning of a new relationship. Perhaps they always managed to kiss like that.

If they hadn’t been standing in his way, John would have slipped past them to the door, but no, they were squarely in the dead center of the path. In order to get around them, John would have had to climb across a bed. He picked up his suit jacket slowly and debated on how much they might actually notice his leaving.

Jack broke off the kiss with Castiel and nipped at his lips once before turning his head to look at John. “You wanna leave?”

“I don’t know, mate. It’s been an awfully strange night,” he replied. “Looks like you two are getting on well enough. I’ll get out of your hair.”

“You could get in it more,” Jack teased.

“Perhaps another time.” John slid on the jacket and then the coat.

“I’ll give you a call.”

John nodded and, without any more ceremony, made his way past the two of them. 

He had just gotten a few paces away from the door, and put another cigarette between his lips, when he heard the motel door behind him open. Determined to tell Jack no, John took in a deep breath and spun on his heel.

Castiel was walking towards him with slow steady steps.

“Well you’re a surprise. I was expecting him,” John said. “Are you meant to lure me back in with your wiles?”

For the first time that night, Castiel smiled. A little one, but the joy reached the bright blue of his eyes. He laughed, “No.” The smile flew away into seriousness. “I wanted to thank you. For earlier.”

“Saving an angel’s hide?” John shrugged. “All in a day’s work, really.”

“You didn’t have to, so thank you.”

John lit the cigarette and took a puff. “Think nothing of it.”

Castiel began to turn.

A nagging question burned in John’s mind. Before Castiel could walk away, he demanded, “What happened to your wings?”

Wide-eyed, Castiel turned back to him. “What?”

“When you flared that little bit of Grace you have, I saw your wings.” John took a long drag of the cigarette. “They weren’t right. Like ghosts flickering. Never seen phantom wings before.”

“I didn’t even feel them.” Castiel walked close to him, almost invading his personal space. He squinted. “How did you see them?”

“Little trick of mine. Comes from dealing with the supernatural too frequently,” John said. “You being an angel took me for a bit of a surprise. How did that happen? How can you hide what you are?”

“I turned off the connections to my brothers and sisters. No Angel Radio,” Castiel said. He stared intently at John’s cigarette.

“It’s not just that.” John held out his pack.

Castiel took out a cigarette and then the offered lighter. He was cautious with them, as if he didn’t quite know what to do at first, but he lit the cigarette on his own. With the first exhalation, he admitted, “My Grace isn’t my own. Mine was stolen and used to curse my siblings.”

“So you, what, stole someone else’s?”

“Yes.”

John blew out a long puff. “Isn’t that sort of like cannibalism for your kind?”

“Effectively.”

“And here I thought I was damned.”

“I had little choice. If I hadn’t taken that power, I would have died.” Castiel met John’s eyes. “Out of everyone, I thought you might appreciate those motivations.”

John waited a moment. Fuck, those were serious blue eyes on him, but not in the judgmental way. No. This was someone who might actually understand without pushing his own agenda onto John’s life. Of course, when one had a worse track record, either one had to be an asshole or a poster child of modesty. Apparently Castiel had gone for the latter. Not a bad thing. 

“Maybe too well.”

They stood there, smoking quietly for a moment.

“Never known an Angel to smoke,” John said. “Or to have a boyfriend.”

“I’m progressive.”

“Is that what really brings you out here after me?”

Castiel tilted his head. “Are you suggesting that I have another reason?”

“Angels don’t typically follow people and thank them for their service,” John continued. “Particularly not once they know who I am. They have a tendency to wait until our next encounter and then glare.”

“I am not like most of them.”

“Yeah, I’m getting that.” John finished his cigarette and then put it out underneath a shoe. “I should be going. See if they have any rooms here at all. Get a cab if they don’t. I’ll see you around, Castiel.”

John hadn’t gotten more than three steps away before Castiel called out, “Wait!”

Holding in a sigh, John turned back. “Yes?”

Castiel put out his cigarette. His face was all scrunched up as if he was thinking too hard. Just before John turned away again, Castiel closed the distance between them, loped an arm around John’s shoulders, and kissed him. 

He tasted like the cigarette and pushed into John’s mouth with an eagerness John hadn’t encountered in far too long a time. They stood there making out underneath the streetlight in the parking lot like a moment from a bad film or something. Strange night indeed, to be making out with an Angel of the Lord that tasted like ash and smoke, smelled like a man, and groped at him like an excited horny teenager.

When John broke the kiss, they were panting. Castiel didn’t move far away. His lips almost on John’s again, he said in a low voice, “I want you to have sex with us.”

Suit pants failed to leave much to the imagination. Castiel was pressed against him—not quite hard, but not entirely soft either. John replied, “You have a very blunt approach.”

“Flirting is still a very new thing for me.”

“I’m sure Jack can teach you that.”

“He’s taught me a few things.” Castiel took a few steps back. “Want to help me learn a few more?”

John must have been half out of his mind again to even consider the proposition. Two handsome not-at-all-human men wanting his attention for the evening? Since when had anyone wanting him ended well? He should back out and walk away before the same terrible luck that had killed his other friends and lovers infected these two. 

Still, one night couldn’t possibly have that negative of an effect, could it?

Castiel held out his hand.

Fuck it had been too long. That kiss a bit too fantastic. The loneliness a bit too much. 

John put his hand in Castiel’s and let the angel lead him back inside the motel room.


	3. Chapter 3

The door swung open into the motel room and John Constantine fought back the urge to wrinkle his nose up at the smell of the place. Somehow he hadn’t noticed before, but now was a bit different. A switch had flipped in his mind and suddenly everything was more than it had been. Slightly brighter or darker, smellier. His tongue was heavy in his mouth—thick with the lingering whiskey and tobacco that adrenaline couldn’t clear away completely. 

Castiel’s hand in his own was warm and the Angel pulled him on with a steady eagerness. John wondered if that Angel would be so welcoming if he had half an idea of what he’d done in the past.

Then he remembered that night in Dublin seemingly ages ago when a group of demons nearly broke a seal on the Cage of Lucifer. Had anyone heard of that night? No, because John Constantine, could, on a very rare occasion, get the job done without damning anyone to Hell over it.

All right, he had managed to piss off quite a few more demons in that go, but the point his mind dragged to the light was that when it came to failings on a huge metaphysical level, he had no need to feel inferior. They were both the poster boys for bad deals and bad choices. Light and dark haired versions, really.

Jack was in the process of stripping off his dress shirt with the arrogance of having his back to the door. “How long does a thank you—” He stopped short of the full question because he turned and saw them both entering. His perfect lips quirked into a sly grin. “Change your mind?”

John swung the door shut and managed a grin of his own. “Your boyfriend here can be very persuasive.”

“What’d you do?” Jack asked of Castiel.

Castiel shrugged out of his suit jacket. He tossed it onto a chair and unbuckled his belt. “We talked.”

“He kissed me, then asked me back inside,” John said.

Jack laughed. “He likes to be direct.”

Castiel frowned at Jack.

Both men were shedding their clothes quickly. John let his trench coat fall back off him slowly before catching it in his hands and laying it on the motel dresser. “All business with you two, eh?”

“It’s hard to have sex with them on,” Castiel said as he kicked off his shoes.

“Sex is more than functionality, love,” John replied.

A glimmer of joy sparkled in Jack’s blue eyes. “I’ve tried telling him.”

“I know what sex is about,” Castiel replied with a huff. “I am hardly virginal.”

“Know, sure, but there are mere mortals on this planet for decades without ever understanding how to have a good screw.” John shook his head at Jack. “Two thousand years old, haven’t you taught him anything?”

“Haven’t had a reason to complain,” Jack said.

“John, what’s your point?” Castiel asked.

“It’s called foreplay. Letting a lover undress you can be one of the best starters.”

Castiel tilted his head.

With a sigh, John looked to Jack—who was already down to his boxers, the bastard—and said, “Maybe a little demonstration’s in order?”

Jack grinned with an almost annoying amount of glee and came towards John. Delicately, his fingers worked at the buttons of John’s shirt while he leaned in for their first kiss. 

His mouth was so warm. He pulsed in a rhythm older than anything John had ever touched before. A power unknown coursed through Jack’s veins, John could feel it as he slid his hands along Jack’s bare shoulders. Something special about this strange man.

When Jack broke away from the kiss, he took John’s suit jacket and shirt with him. For a second there, John thought to figure out what the hell Jack was, but Castiel swooped in. 

The Angel was an eager student. He pulled John in for another kiss and then his hands went exploring across the clothes that remained. Jack slid up behind John so he had all that free space to play with John’s back. They stripped him in moments, but the goal was accomplished. The atmosphere had changed from that cold ‘let’s get it done’ to a slow exploration of each other’s skin.

The bed could hardly hold all three of them. John would’ve fallen off at one point if Jack hadn’t grabbed onto him and pulled him in again. 

They kissed, they touched, and John let himself go between them. Even after long minutes, Castiel still tasted of ash. His hands were almost ice cold, but he seemed to know that. They found their way across John’s flesh in light, teasing patterns and only dipped to shock him in order to excite.

Jack was damn near the opposite. That thrum of power in his skin warmed him impossibly hot. He left scorching kisses down John’s back, used his tongue in ways John hadn’t felt in too long a time, and he touch was strong enough to anchor John to the here and now. The wretched smell of the motel room lost to Jack’s musky addicting scent.

John, for his part, did his best to keep up, stay aware of everything, but soon enough only their strong differences let him know which lover was doing what to him. Castiel pushed him down onto the bed, straddled him, and rode him, all while Jack kissed him and whispered for him to hold on, wasn’t time for him yet. 

When Castiel finished, leaving a sordid mess all over John’s chest, Jack took his turn. He rolled John over, brought him onto his knees, and fucked him. All that heat, that warmth, that power pushed into John and he thought he might burst from the need to feel anything against his own nether region. Castiel slipped his hand around John’s cock and John groaned. 

Climax broke upon him. Or rather, he broke upon climax’s rocky, sweat-soaked shores. He had held out longest, his cries loudest of them all, not that he cared. For once in a long long time, those nagging voices in his mind had silenced. Until he came off this high, the troubles, the worries, the demands of the universe would keep themselves well out of his thoughts.

There wasn’t room for them all to sleep on the damn motel bed. Castiel had dropped off into dreamland ahead of the rest of them and he had nestled into Jack’s side, so John climbed out of the bed.

“You don’t have to go,” Jack said.

“Was going to give it at least a few more minutes, mate,” John replied. He hadn’t meant to, but now he would. The night air would suck the rest of this glorious post-orgasmic high away and he preferred staying right where he was mentally for as long as he could.

He tugged out the pack of cigarettes, pulled out the last one, and lit it. Nicotine, the only thing that could make this better. He leaned against the nasty dresser, ignoring the slight sticky sensation since he wasn’t sure if that was him or it, and smoked his cigarette while watching the two in the bed.

Jack had drawn Castiel so far into his arms as to cocoon him. Still, Castiel shivered in his sleep, so John reached forward and tossed the blanket across them before returning to his spot to smoke.

“Thanks,” Jack said.

“Mm, thank you. That was. Hm. Amazing doesn’t seem good enough a word.”

Jack grinned again, a gesture only visible because of the streetlight’s glow coming from the window.

They stayed in silence and the buzz slowly began to wear off. Still, John felt lighter than he had in ages. After the cigarette, he started hunting down his clothes.

“Demonologist,” Jack said. “How much research have you done?”

John paused and glanced at the man. Jack was hiding behind a careful mask of neutral expression. “Here I thought you were just interested in my body,” John joked.

“Are you a joke or not?” Jack asked.

“I know plenty, mate. Enough to damn my soul and a whole city’s worth along with me.”

A long silent moment passed between them. Finally, Jack let out a soft, long sigh. The shadows almost hid the concern in his blue eyes. “Cas is dying.”

Well, now that was an interesting an idea. “Angels don’t die.”

“He’s weaker every day. You saw him in the bar.”

“Aye.” John longed for another cigarette. He hunted for even a partial pack in his clothes and barely held back a triumphant cackle when he found a pack in his trench coat pocket. “He admitted to me that his Grace isn’t really his.”

“His was stolen,” Jack said. “Used up. This new Grace can’t sustain him. He’s going to die.”

“Doesn’t have to,” John replied out of hand.

“What?”

“He doesn’t have to roll over and die.” John lit the next cig and took back up his spot.

Jack was staring at him expectantly.

John let out a long breath of smoke. “They don’t like to look at themselves like this, but Angels are vessels too. Of God’s power of Creation. He fashioned a piece out for each one of ‘em. That poor bastard lying next to you isn’t just possessed by an Angel, he’s possessed by that chunk of God’s Will too. And like how an Angel can’t possess just anyone for a meaningful amount of time, that bit of Creation can’t possess just any Angel. That’s why he’s burning up and failing. So, theory goes, all he needs is a piece designed for him to take in. If you can’t find any of the original, you’ll just have to get someone to fashion him a new one.”

“Could you?”

“Hell no! Touching something like that would burn me alive.” John took a long drag of his cigarette and eyed Jack. “You though, mate, you’ve got something going on with you. What are you?”

“I’m human.”

“Bullshit. I could feel the power in you.”

Jack drew his chin up a little. “Someone brought me back from the dead once, except she brought back a little too much. I can’t die. Ever.”

“How’d she do it?” John asked. “Dark magic?”

“She opened the heart of TARDIS and took in the power of the Time Vortex.”

“And so now you’ve got some of that in you?”

“Yeah.”

John thought while he finished that second cigarette. “Don’t know nothin’ about those words you just spat out, but I’ve got this sneaky suspicion that you might actually stand a chance.”

“A chance at what?”

“Getting Castiel that new Grace. Wouldn’t get your hopes up, it’d probably kill you and a good chunk of your friends just to find out if you could. We’re talking defying God’s order of things to a level that few beings ever fuck around with.”

John grabbed his boxers, his pants, and his other clothes. Even talking about this kind of shit could be too much. If something was listening in, he was in for a great deal of pain himself.

“Can you help?”

John froze, in mid-motion for putting on that suit jacket of his, and slowly turned back towards Jack. The man in the bed was lying there with his lover—two impossible beings that had taken him into their bed. 

He didn’t owe them anything. He’d already saved Castiel’s life once that night. Fucking with metaphysics on that epic of a level would certainly be the death of him and he had no reason to stick his neck out for anyone from Heaven.

‘Cept, if the stories were true, Castiel could be the one Angel that loved humanity more than Heaven. Humans could use an ally like that, ‘specially if things kept going to hell.

But John preferred staying with the living and keeping his soul out of Hell for as long as possible. “Sorry, mate, way above my pay grade.”

“That’s a lame excuse.”

John shrugged and slid his jacket on. “We’re talking about messing with the cosmic order of the universe. That’s not something to be undertaken lightly. Or for a one night shag.”

“The world needs him.”

“And I need to get my head checked just for putting that stupid hope in your head. I’m sorry, love. You’re on your own.”

John picked up his trench coat and left the motel room before Jack could argue again with him. 

He wasn’t going to do this. Wasn’t going to research it. Wasn’t going to think about Castiel or the way he tasted or smelled or felt. One night shag. Bit of tension released that was getting ruined because Jack had wanted such a serious answer.

Dying Angel wasn’t his problem. Nope. If God wanted Castiel at full power, then he’d find a way to do it.

Oh he could just hear Manny now, though, couldn’t he? Maybe throwing John Constantine into the path of Jack and Castiel had been God’s way of getting Castiel a Grace again. 

Already, John knew a dozen lore and text to begin research with. He’d have to figure out more about Jack, about what he was. They could buck the whole universe, the three of them. Could John really pass that up?

Manny would say that with the arrogance John carried, he was surprised John said no at all.

Funny how the other Angel could screw with his head without even making an appearance. 

“Manny, you bastard,” John swore as he spun on his heels and went straight back into the motel room.

Jack was sitting up in bed more, fussing with his phone, and looked full-on surprised to see John walk back in for the third time.

“All right, I’m in,” John said. “Never could resist a chance to burn in Hell.”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm playing with characterization here. Comments are more than appreciated, they're encouraged! I can't improve without criticism, so let me hear it!
> 
> The stories are too episodic in nature to be considered one piece, but this series will continue on this idea: Can John run a con game against reality to fashion Castiel a new Grace or will this fall through the rabbit hole leave him broken on Hell's doorstep?


End file.
